Coming to Terms
by erbsen
Summary: The focus is Caroline Bingley from the time Charles is swept away from Netherfield to when the eldest Bennet sisters receive their proposals. There's a lot of thinking to be done and a lot of coming to terms.
1. The Ride

**I do not own the characters and/or plot of Pride and Prejudice. Thank you and good night. :)**

Watching the trees promenade slowly past the carriage window, she thought to herself what a bore the country had been. The most tolerable company had come from Jane Bennet, of all people. Sweet, sweet Miss Bennet. Who tied her ribbons with care and sipped her tea with the pinky slightly raised.

Caroline Bingley sighed and almost thought to slump back in her seat. It was only the sight of Mr. Darcy that prompted her to keep her back straight. His eyes flickered from his book to look at her for an instant. An instant was all it took. She looked like she always looked. Beautiful, yet stiff and somehow cold. Nothing that merited acknowledgement of any sort.

"I wonder what you will miss more, Mr. Darcy," she said, pouncing on the opportunity to be noticed. Her hand flew to a stray strand of hair and she blinked her lashes while seductively twisting it round her finger. "The charming squeals of Mrs. Bennet or Miss Elizabeth's _wild_ hair? The former was more frequent, to be sure. I fear its absence may never be filled, but I do wonder what _you_ think."

"Be quiet, Caroline."

Her hand dropped back to her lap and she looked to her brother.

"Charles," she pleaded, swallowing her hurt, "you simply _must _invite Miss Bennet to join us in town. There would be no sense in losing such a delightful acquaintance so close to Netherfield."

"The invitation would be more proper coming from you," he murmured, not even suffering a glance in her direction. His eyes were set on the passing scenery. Thinking of what, she couldn't possibly imagine.

"I am sure it would please her mother more to hear from you."

"If my business in London is so great, then I shall have no time for letters," he said, tightening his grip on one of the curtain tassels.

"Caroline, hold your tongue," Mr. Darcy scolded again, looking up from his work.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy," she agreed unhappily, "so that we might all brood on the countless oaks and demure fashions left behind. It is a long way to London, Mr. Darcy. I hope your reading interests you."

Again, she nearly thought to slouch, to cross her arms angrily in front of her breasts, and maybe even throw out a pitiful pout. She refrained, however, and took to playing with the embroidery on her dress instead.

It was a long way to London.


	2. Clandestine

"Caroline…"

"Wake up, Caroline…"

Someone was calling her name. Her green eyes opened and she sat up with an awful gasp. All of that sweet effort to keep her back looking long and her neck graceful! All of it wasted in the name of sleep!

"She's awake, Darcy," Charles called over his shoulder, then whispered to her, "You're not ill, I hope."

"Of course not, Charles," she snapped, trying to salvage her hair. "I fell asleep, I didn't faint. Have we arrived?"

He nodded, then proceeded to hop out of the carriage, leaving her to conquer the dreadful stairs alone. She stared at them a while, testing the different ways she could lift the hem of her dress and extend her leg without looking incredibly gawky. Thankfully, she didn't have to experiment for very long.

Mr. Darcy, who had been watching her with traces of amusement in his eyes, had sense enough to offer his arm. She took it gratefully, though firmly, in her long fingers. The blood was rising quickly in her cheeks, staining them a splotchy pink.

The color made her look less like a painted doll and more like a budding woman. Had it been light enough for the man next to her to notice, it might have reminded him of when she was younger—when she smiled rather than sneered. He might have even thought her handsome.

"We should talk to him tonight," he suggested quietly, keeping his eyes forward, reminding her that there was something clandestine about their return.

"Let him rest," she replied, focusing on the approaching door rather than the softness of his jacket. "Tomorrow would be better."

"At breakfast, then?" he asked, lowering is eyes to look at her face as they walked into the light of the torches. Her blush had passed and he saw nothing but the usual, even paleness.

"Perhaps," she allowed, dropping his arm and entering the house ahead of him so that he might admire the cut of the dress.

"It is not because you have forgotten what you are to say?" he suggested, eyebrows raised.

"I have memorized it backwards and forwards," she reassured him, "in French and in Italian. My brother's life will hang in ruin and only you would think it noble."

"It is better that he find out now and from us, rather than—"

"When he proposed? Mr. Darcy, I believe she would have taken his hand. If not for love, then for his money." She forced a sad smile as she straightened her dress. "And now the poor Bennet girls must waste their darling lives in poverty."

"What do I care about the Bennets?" he asked, turning away. Had it been lighter in the entryway, she might have caught him blushing.

"I think you care more than you know," she continued. "Then again, Mr. Wickham might—"

"Caroline!" came the call from upstairs. "Louisa has sent us a letter already!"

"I'll read it in the morning, Charles," she called back, then turned once more to face Mr. Darcy's back. "At breakfast, then?"

"At breakfast."

"Good night, sir."

"Good night, Caroline."


	3. At Breakfast

His green eyes frantically searched Mr. Darcy's face for signs of duplicity. From across the table, Caroline sighed and dropped her utensils.

"It is true, brother," she told him. "I would not have known it myself had Mr. Darcy not mentioned it before our leaving."

"Then it is not the reason for our leaving?" he asked quietly, looking down at the food on his plate. It all seemed so unnecessary now.

"Of course, not, Charles," she said, reaching out to give his hand a gentle pat. "Though, it may be good reason to never return."

"Perhaps I could convince her—"

"Caroline has tried on many occasions," Mr. Darcy interrupted, nodding towards her.

"I have, Charles! I have! She did say how agreeable you were, but quickly changed the subject to my most recent arrangement of flowers."

"If she finds me agreeable, then there is chance that I may charm her yet." He quickly stood up, bumping the table, which caused the dishes to rattle unpleasantly. "We must away to Netherfield at once!"

"Listen to yourself, Bingley," Darcy advised, standing up, though more smoothly. "This isn't reasonable."

With both her dining partners on their feet, Caroline decided to join them, saying mockingly and with a roll of the eyes, "Since when has he been reasonable?"

"Miss Bennet has no affection for you."

"But if I go to her now," he said, gesturing towards the door, "then she might, in time, learn to like me."

"Charles, the object is for her to love you," Caroline reminded him. "She already _likes_ you."

"Then cannot that like grow into love?"

"It cannot," Darcy insisted. "Sit and finish your food."

"And why not?"

"Because there is another man," Caroline blurted before Mr. Darcy could finish reasoning with her brother.

The statement was followed by silence and a terrible stillness. Everyone seemed frozen, though Caroline noticed that the clock still chimed at the hour. Mr. Darcy's mouth was open; his finger still pointed towards Charles, whose eyes looked at her with perfect, pitiful sadness.

"E-excuse me," he whispered, shouldering into his coat and exiting the room. They listened to his shoes click on the floor, followed by the creak and loud shut of the front door.

Mr. Darcy's hand returned to his side and Caroline walked to the window.

"Another man, Caroline?" he asked, angrily.

"And why not? Poor Charles is probably thinking at this very moment how fitting it is. After all, she only danced with him for three-quarters of the night. He is surely mourning that mystery quarter as we speak."

"I asked you to be convincing, not to _lie_."

"You instructed me to tell him that she was interested in my flower arranging," she said, vaguely touching the tips of her fingers to the cold glass.

"And wasn't she?"

"Of course you wouldn't notice," she laughed, and it was biting, though somewhat sad. "Louisa never noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"Funny that it always chooses to rain when someone is given bad news," she mused, running her fingers along the path of the drops.

"It's raining?" he asked, joining her at the window.

"Not very much, though it looks like it will pick up in an hour or so. It's somewhat fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Mr. Darcy had no answer for this and instead walked back to the table to take his coat from the chair.

"Will you be joining my brother, then?"

Again, there was no answer. She listened to his fading steps alone, until she could hear them no more, and returned to the table to eat in solitude.

"I haven't arranged flowers in years."

---

**Thank you for all the reviews! I'm certainly drawing this out, aren't I? I promise I will pick up the pace soon!**


	4. Return

Caroline stared the bedroom clock straight in its pale face and watched the hands slowly shift. In her left hand was her sister's letter—creases already soft from restless rereadings. She absently tapped the pen to her lips as she brainstormed possible replies, none of which were to make it onto paper.

"Dear Louisa," she said to the well-adorned walls. "Since you asked, I feel inclined to tell you that the gown you wore to the Netherfield ball was absolutely unnecessary. Why you could ever have imagined feathers would complement a flowered pattern is beyond my comprehension. However, I commend you on matching your husband's appearance so precisely. Has the lovely Mr. Hurst put on some weight? Your ever loving sister—"

"Caroline!"

"Bingley, she's—"

Somehow she had missed the opening of the front door, buried beneath the sound of her voice and the dropping of the rain upon the roof. After countless false calls and hours of solitude, she was sure she had gone mad and begun to hear things. Nevertheless, she pushed back, the legs of the chair scraping noisily against the floor, and ran out of the room.

"Caroline!"

Respectability was not enough to slow her feet, and she rushed down the stairs, throwing herself into her brother's arms. The backs of her shoes reluctantly parted with her heels as she stood on her toes to better return the embrace. One hand came round his shoulders to grip his shirt, while the other combed tenderly through his hair. The dampness from his clothes quickly spread through her own, leaving dark splotches on the fabric when she finally pulled away.

"Darcy told me you were ill," he informed her as her eyes searched his body for some sign of damage.

"I—"

"Sick with worry, perhaps," Caroline interrupted, brushing her sleeves as though the motion would make the stains disappear. Mr. Darcy's voice, as curtailed as it had been, had returned her to the world of modesty and social graces. "You both must be terribly hungry."

"Famished," Darcy admitted, shrugging out of his dripping coat.

Her brother, however, did not reply and started up the stairs alone.

"Come, Charles," Caroline protested, voice laced with worry, "you've barely eaten."

"I'm sure I'll find my appetite once I've changed," he said without turning around.

"I'll… I'll have a place set for you, then?"

To this, he gave no answer and she made a few sorry attempts at disguising her gloomy countenance. Her lower lip trembled with the effort and she sniffed loudly. Blushing at the noise, she wiped again at the damp splotches down the front of her dress.

"Oh, I am thoroughly soaked now," she moaned, and if Mr. Darcy had noticed a change in her, all sympathy was banished by these words. They only affirmed his thought that she cared for nothing but appearances.

"Perhaps we should all change," he suggested blandly, mounting the stairs before she could reply.

"Mr. Darcy…"

"Yes?" he answered, turning around. There was a drop of water that had been hanging from the tip of his nose, which now dropped to his upper lip. She noticed this and wondered what it would be like to kiss him right then, with both of them wet and rightly uncomfortable.

"I… I have forgotten," she lied.

"Shall I stay until you have remembered?"

"No, please, it was nothing important."

It wasn't until his footsteps had disappeared and the hall was filled with the empty ticking of her brother's clocks that she sunk to the floor and sighed, tracing the patterned tiles with the tip of her finger. If only she hadn't lied.


	5. That Night

He was not surprised when he awoke to find her there. He laid a gentle hand on her thin shoulders, barely veiled by her delicate cotton night gown, and she was not startled. Friends of the family used to mark how wonderful it was that the youngest Bingley children understood each other so well. They laughed at how she dressed him in the highest fashions, and they laughed at how he let her.

It was a long time since then.

"Oh, Caroline," he whispered, affectionately taking up one of her soft red curls between his fingers, then letting it spring back to the sheets. She shivered as though cold.

"Is Mr. Darcy really to depart tomorrow?" she asked, turning on her side to face him as he quietly lit a candle. There was no sense in having the room dark if they were both awake. "He did not come to dinner."

"Yes," came the response. "He has some business to attend to before he must visit his aunt at Rosings."

"Must he, really? Can he not stay for breakfast, even?" she insisted as he laid back and sighed. "I aggravate you, Charles, but he is the only steady head in this house. What am I to do with you when he is gone?"

"Oh, Caroline," he repeated, turning his head to look into her eyes. "Do with me what you will."

For a moment, the siblings were silent, both smiling conspiratorially in the candle light like they had as children, breaking the rules to read aloud another chapter in Mrs. Radcliffe's latest novel. His face had always been boyish, and without make up, he could see her freckles and, for a moment, she was but a girl. She felt finally at peace, but it was for a moment only.

"Oh, Caroline," he said again, more mournful than she had ever heard him before. His sighs seemed to chill the air, and she suppressed a shudder. "She was my soul, and I am but a puppet now. Tell me, how should a man broken sip his tea? Ride through the countryside? Tie his cravat?"

"Charles, you feel too deeply," she laughed, taking his hand in hers. "You always have. I wish you would have let me accompany you to Netherfield that first time, then I could have saved you this… Charles, if you could have but seen yourself! The way you fell in love it was as though you had gone suddenly insane! Gone was the well-spoken, thoughtful brother that I love so dearly! You became a bumbling idiot, and I'm not afraid to say it…"

"You have never been afraid to say anything, Caroline," he laughed, then slid his hand from her grasp. "But in the face of such beauty, is anyone ever the same?"

She was silent as she turned away from him and held her hands to her face. She could remember when she first met Mr. Darcy, the tall, brooding, intellectual friend of her older brother. She could remember everything from that disastrous night, right down to the unfortunate button the sprung from Mr. Hurst's vest and shattered Mrs. Hampton's glass. The quartet, too. She could remember their selection, and a welcome hand, extending forward, inviting her to dance—

"Charles," she asked, and he knew she was upset even though he could not see her face, "do you think things would have been different if they hadn't died that night?"

"There's nothing that can't change still," he said, always the optimist, and reached out to sympathetically run a hand along her arm. "You have always been the most beautiful woman in all of England."

"I lied to you, Charles," she whispered, inspired by the moment to clear her conscience. "I want you to remember that the next time you think to call me beautiful."

He suddenly laughed and pulled her into as much of an embrace as he could manage with her resistance.

"You silly lass," he cried, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek. "That story you told about arranging flowers was the worst bit of tripe I've ever heard in my life! I remember mama almost fainted at the sight of one of your ghastly arrangements, and if Jane Bennet were to have another man, I couldn't imagine—"

"Then why did you run away?"

"I needed to think is all," he replied, sobering. "I believe she quite favors me, but perhaps it was right to take leave of Netherfield. There is much business to take care of before a wedding, as you know."

"Oh, Charles," she moaned before she could stop herself. "_Really_?"

"Go to sleep, child," he demanded jovially, blowing out the candle. "And quit with your worrying. I feel as though I could conquer the earth."

With that, he rolled over and pulled the blankets up to his chin. Though it was dark in the room, and the increasing steadiness of his breathing caused her eyelids to droop, she could not bring herself to dream. She had not slept next to her brother since their parents had died, and it was a long time since then. Yet, for some reason, being near Charles was a bit like coming home, and she just wasn't ready to let that go—not even to a bride as beautiful and understanding as Jane Bennet.

---

**Thank you for being so patient with me! I can't believe it's been more than a year since I updated... ha ha, well, here it is. Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner!**


	6. A Wintery Conversation

The weeks that followed passed slowly for Caroline, with nothing to do but read, and no one but her barely tolerable sister to offer any company. Much of her time was spent in the library at the writing desk, though she never finished a letter. She mostly just sat, tapping out an impatient rhythm with her pen, and daydreaming with her head resting on her upturned palm.

There were times when she'd considered practicing the piano, but whenever she sat on the bench, her fingers neatly poised over the polished ivory, she found that her memory could take her no farther than the first ten notes of any song. Frustrated and feeling worthless, she always just sighed and let her hands fall into her lap.

It wasn't easy for her to admit that her entire plan had failed. Her brother's affection for Jane Bennet had only grown with their separation, and whatever joyful energy she was able to muster on that bright, sunny morning was dashed the instant he burst into the library and opened his mouth.

"Miss Bennet is coming to town!" he laughed, pulling his sister into an enthusiastic embrace. "Carrie, remember that her relatives live in Cheapside? Oh, this is absolutely perfect, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I would _not_ say," she replied as he released her. Laden with heavy boredom, she sunk back onto her couch and continued, "You haven't heard from her in as many weeks as we've been here, and you also have not bothered to write to Longbourn. What is she to think, the poor girl?"

His hands fell unhappily to his sides and he examined his firey sister with confusion.

"Carrie, I'm puzzled," Charles replied. "What should I have written? The words… the words would not come when I was looking at a blank page, but—oh!—when I see her beautiful face, such wonderful phrases to compliment it will surely—"

"Surely not," came the interruption, accompanied by a well-timed eyeroll. "Charles, you could barely form a sentence our entire stay at Netherfield. London won't change that. You have business out of town, anyway."

"Business," he murmured, kicking at the rug with the toe of his boot. "It's my business, Caroline, and I say it can wait."

"Business," she mocked. "It's my _dowry_, Charles, and I say it can't."

"Caroline, _please_."

"Charles, _please_," she said, desperately. "You don't know what people are _saying_ about me!"

"Don't be silly—"

" 'Isn't Miss Bingley in her twentieth year?' " she repeated, her voice wavering dramatically. There actually wasn't anything a person had said out loud, but these were things she was _sure_ everyone was thinking when they saw her. " 'What a pity. Poor child.' "

"Carrie, stop it."

"I won't," she said firmly, looking up into her brother's pained face. "I should be married by now, and I've no feminine qualities to sell save your pocket book, so you should stop being so selfish, Charles, and I promised you can go absolutely wild for pretty women once I'm married. _You_ promised—"

"Alright, Caroline," he acquiesced, replacing his hat and staring gravely at her. "I'll do it, but you should treat her well when she comes around. Tell her that I'll be back on the morning of the third—as quickly as I can."

"Thank you, sir."

"You know I love you, Caroline."

"I know."

"You can't keep me away from Miss Bennet forever."

"I know."

"You're more than your money, Caroline."

She hung her head and was silent. Charles quietly gave her a reassuring pat on the back, then spun on his heel and quickly exited the room.


	7. Afternoon Tea

There were times when Caroline Bingley enjoyed silence. It meant that her companion was in awe of her—too occupied with admiring her to think of something flattering to say. Those were the times that silence was sufficient, and she smiled, but this was not such a time, and the smile that graced Miss Bingley's lips was almost pained.

Miss Bennet sat across the small table, a small strawberry treat on the saucer on her lap. Caroline had the feeling that the tart had only been taken to be polite, and would be wasted along with Miss Bennet's untouched tea. She had done this many times herself, however, this upset her.

"How are you enjoying London, Miss Bennet?" Louisa chirped, setting her cup down too loudly. "You are here until the ninth?"

Both Jane and Caroline sent a nervous glance towards the unfortunate cup and saucer, and Louisa was embarrassed into silence once more.

"The ninth, yes, and I am enjoying it very much, thank you, Mrs. Hurst," Jane responded after taking a small, bird-sized sip from her cup.

"I am sorry, then," Caroline began, the first words she had spoken all afternoon, "that we must put a sort of damper on the fun. My brother is regretfully away on business."

It was hard for her to conceal the joy that wished so badly to lace this statement, and she may have failed on purpose. She didn't really want Jane to think that she was regretful and sorry, and she got the very same reaction she had hoped for.

Miss Bennet's eyes fell to look at the china she held in her lap, and she murmured her quiet apologies for bothering them.

"It is no problem at all, my dear," Caroline drawled, more careful this time to disguise her bitterness. "Charles is not the only one in this family allowed to adore you."

"Yes, of course."

"Now, Miss Bennet," Louisa piped in again, "you simply _must_ shop at Mr. Aldridge's boutique. Caroline positively loves it there."

Caroline was silent.

"There is a party at Mrs. Avery's the evening of the third," Louisa continued, unaware of the discomfort she was causing. "You should really attend, Miss Bennet. You could borrow one of Carrie's old dresses."

"Louisa, darling," Caroline sighed, "perhaps you should see if Miss Bennet would like to accompany us before making such offers."

She wasn't sure why she left out the word 'ludicrous' to describe her sister's offer. Perhaps it was the sudden feeling penetrating her thoughts that Charles would come to hate her for what she was about to do.

"I would… _very_ much love to accompany you," Jane cried, happily, her blue eyes watering. It was all Caroline could do to not roll her eyes at this sickening display of gratitude. "Will you entire family attend?"

"Yes—" Louisa began, but Caroline interrupted.

"We will, Miss Bennet," she said quickly, standing. Her companions also stood, and she led them gently towards the door as she continued, "but I am afraid Charles will still be away that evening. He returns on the morning of the… eleventh."

The lie was hard to spit out, and she wasn't completely sure why. It unnerved her and she was glad to be forcing her confused sister and Miss Bennet out the door. She wanted the kind of silence where she could sit and think while pretending to read, not the kind that seemed to drown her in what was going unsaid.

"Louisa, darling, tell Mr. Hurst I greatly miss him," she lied as her sister pulled into her coat. "Perhaps I might dine with you sometime? It is dreadfully lonely with Charles gone."

"Yes, sister," came the response, probably also a lie. "We would enjoy that, I'm sure."

"And Miss Bennet," she continued, "do stop by again soon."

"I will try. Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Bingley."

Once the polite goodbyes were said, Caroline dashed to the library and sat down with a book about hunting. As she stared at the diagrams, she could only think of how angry her brother would be with her once he returned, but it wasn't her fault. If she made Mr. Darcy proud, then he might fall in love with her, and even if it didn't work out quite like that, it wasn't her fault. It was her brother's fault, she decided, for not keeping more rich friends.

Still, her thoughts remained dark, and she fell asleep dreading what would happen on the morning of her brother's return.


	8. I Dream of Season

Perhaps it was because she had allowed herself a late morning nap in such a foul mood, or perhaps it was because she had glanced over some old papers before falling asleep. Regardless of the reason, Caroline Bingley dreamt of her first Season.

---

"_Oh, Carrie, you look absolutely lovely," her brother gushed. She turned and beamed at her reflection in the mirror. They were all much younger then. "Lulu, why don't you help her with the buttons in the back?"_

"_It's too big," came her older sister's attempt to spit on the festivities. "You look like a child."_

"_Nonsense," Caroline protested, holding up her curls as Louisa begrudgingly worked through the last few buttons. "I think I look like mama."_

"_That's right, Caroline," Charles laughed, pinching her cheek flushed with excitement. "Lulu's just jealous because she can't flounce about now that she's engaged. You look fantastic—like heaven! I can hardly believe we're related."_

"_Who have you invited? Oh, Charles, I can't wait to meet all your friends—and papa's too!"_

"_Louisa and Mr. Hurst are coming—"_

"_Naturally."_

"_Yes," Charles continued, counting off on his fingers as he remembered, "and Mrs. Grace and her family, the Hamptons, Mr. and Mrs. Winters, Oliver—but you've known him for years… let's see… George and William Merryton, the Abbots, the Denmans, our aunts and uncles and cousins, a few of their friends, and… um… Mr. Darcy."_

_Caroline made a face, and her brother laughed. Louisa rolled her eyes._

"_Carrie, that's rude. You've barely seen him."_

"_Yes, but he was scowling when I did."_

"_He was brooding, dearest," Charles corrected. "Mr. Darcy does not scowl."_

_The sunny scene from her old bedroom slowly melted away into the party. There were couples dancing around her so gracefully they were almost flying, each acknowledging her with a smile and a nod as they passed. There were clouds in the room, and she tried to smile back, but dance after dance, her cheery mood faded into unhappiness._

_It was her party, she lamented, but half of the attention was taken by Louisa's new ring and the other half belonged to Charles and his business partners. He, on the other hand, couldn't take his eyes from the eldest Denman daughter. No one noticed her, and the more she realized this, the more she began to feel like a child playing dress up. Maybe Louisa had been right._

_And where were their parents?_

"_Good evening, Miss Bingley," Mr. William Merryton greeted her, rather red in the face. "You're looking quite… quite grown up."_

_Her frown deepened._

"_And… and I mean, by that, naturally… that… you look—why!—you look—"_

_And that's when it happened. It was all slower than normal as Mr. Hurst raised his fork and began to swallow that unfortunate piece of pineapple. A button sprung from his taut vest and collided with Mrs. Hampton's glass, which shattered, spilling punch all over her painted visage._

_Mrs. Hampton screamed wildly and, once more, all attention was diverted. The man standing awkwardly across from Caroline, glad to be distracted by a crisis, ran to the scene._

_It wasn't fair, she thought as she retreated to her room. It wasn't fair that her dress was too big. It wasn't fair that even her brother couldn't spare a dance for her. It wasn't fair that Louisa was more special because of her engagement. It simply wasn't _fair_!_

_As she rounded the corner, she realized only too late that she was not alone._

"_Oh!" she gasped, stopping so abruptly that her dress twisted awkwardly around her legs. She sniffed and frantically tried to right it. "Mr. Darcy, I'm sorry, I…"_

"_Miss Bingley," he said plainly, rising politely from his seat on the stairs._

"_You must think I'm terrible," she began, wiping at her eyes and laughing softly, "running away from my own party after Charles worked so hard to plan it."_

_Mr. Darcy was silent._

"_You see, I've just realized I'm too young for this," she explained. "My dress doesn't even fit properly, see? I only wanted this because mother seemed to want it so badly. Truth is, I'd have rather stayed back one more year."_

"_You're of age," he responded simply as she hoisted her skirts and took an ungraceful seat on the floor. "Mr. Merryton seems interested."_

"_But I don't feel of age," she harrumphed childishly. "These are all Charles's friends—Mr. Merryton, too—and so old."_

"_Mr. Merryton is rich."_

"_So are you."_

_It had escaped her lips before she'd time to consider her words, and before she could make right of the frightful situation, more irreverence spilled forth._

"_Old, I mean, Mr. Darcy," she amended. "Of course you're rich, too, but so am I, and I feel money is an awful basis for marriage."_

"_You're very young, Miss Bingley," he said. His lips twitched slightly, and she couldn't be sure whether he was laughing or very cross. Regardless, his reaction suppressed her into a moment of uncomfortable silence._

"_What was it you were doing on our stairs?" she inquired once she'd regained her courage._

"_I dislike dancing," he responded, his lips still twitching curiously. "What—"_

"_I also dislike dancing," she quickly lied, looking away and feeling incredibly silly. In truth, she could still hear the quartet's minuet, and it was like a dagger through her heart. If only she'd responded more kindly to Mr. Merryton._

"_Don't ever fib, Miss Bingley," Mr. Darcy advised, extending his hand and offering up a small smile. "It doesn't suit you."_

"_Please, call me Caroline, sir," she murmured, turning an endearing shade of red as her partner spun her into position for their makeshift dance. Mr. Darcy was just staring into her eyes, which were an odd shade of green much like a cat's, and thinking she was suitably adorable when a loud knock came at the front door and Charles burst giddily into the scene._

"_Oh, there you are, Darcy," he laughed genially, patting his friend on the back. "I see you couldn't escape my darling sister."_

_Knock, knock, knock._

"_You should get the door, Carrie. It could be your future husband."_

_Knock, knock, knock._

"_I'm coming!"_

_She pranced to the door and gracefully pushed it open, ready to curtsy, but there was nothing there to greet save another door, and another, and another, and always that incessant knocking. Her brother and Mr. Darcy had disappeared, and it was suddenly just Caroline in white muslin and lace._

_The air in the front room had grown stale and she was finding it harder and harder to breathe until, finally, she opened the door and faced the cold winter night._

"_Miss Bingley," the undertaker said, stepping forward from the darkness and doffing his hat, "I'm terribly sorry."_

_---  
_

The door swung shut and Caroline was jolted awake.

"Miss Bingley," her maid said, taking a timid step forward. "I'm terribly sorry, but Mr. Bingley wished me to inform you that he will not be at dinner tonight."

"Yes, of course," Caroline whispered, gingerly touching her forehead as she sat up and sighed.

"And… and there's a Mr. Darcy here to see you, Miss Bingley."


End file.
